


The Hobbit in Mordor

by MrToddWilkins



Category: lotr - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Crack, Hobbits, Parody, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26023861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrToddWilkins/pseuds/MrToddWilkins
Summary: A poem from a world where Frodo became the RinglordWritten by Justain Hornblower, SR 1610
Kudos: 1





	The Hobbit in Mordor

Ave you 'eard o' the Hobbit in Mordor  
With a great bronze crown on 'is 'ead?  
He 'as ships on the foam -- he 'as millions at 'ome,  
An' he pays us poor beggars in red.  
(Ow, poor beggars in red!)  
There's 'is nick on the cavalry 'orses,  
There's 'is mark on the medical stores --  
An' 'is troopers you'll find with a fair wind be'ind  
That takes us to various wars.  
(Poor beggars! -- barbarious wars!)  
Then 'ere's to the Hobbit in Mordor,  
An' 'ere's to the stores an' the guns,  
The men an' the 'orses what makes up the forces  
O' Old Master Frodo’s sons.  
(Poor beggars,old Frodo’s sons!)

Walk wide o' the Hobbit in Mordor,  
For 'alf o' Creation he owns:  
We 'ave bought 'im the same with the sword an' the flame,  
An' we've salted it down with our bones.  
(Poor beggars! -- it's blue with our bones!)  
Hands off o' the sons o' the Hobbit,  
Hands off o' the goods in 'is shop,  
For the Kings must come down an' the Emperors frown  
When the Hobbit in Mordor says "Stop"!  
(Poor beggars! -- we're sent to say "Stop"!)  
Then 'ere's to the Lodge o' the Hobbit,  
From the Pole to the Tropics it runs --  
To the Lodge that we tile with the rank an' the file,  
An' open in form with the guns.  
(Poor beggars! -- it's always they guns!)

We 'ave 'eard o' the Hobbit in Mordor,  
It's safest to let 'im alone:  
For 'er sentries we stand by the sea an' the land  
Wherever the bugles are blown.  
(Poor beggars! -- an' don't we get blown!)  
Take 'old o' the Wings o' the Powers,  
An' flop round the earth till you're dead;  
But you won't get away from the tune that they play  
To the bloomin' old rag over'ead.  
(Poor beggars! -- it's 'ot over'ead!)  
Then 'ere's to the sons o' the Hobbit,  
Wherever, 'owever they roam.  
'Ere's all they desire, an' if they require  
A speedy return to their 'ome.  
(Poor beggars! -- they'll never see 'ome!)


End file.
